


Madam Longbottom and the Apothecary's Assistant

by AnneArthur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneArthur/pseuds/AnneArthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape's family and the Longbottoms both appear to come from the north of England - so was there a previous connection between the two families? This is an attempt to suggest one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madam Longbottom and the Apothecary's Assistant

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story several years ago now, but it is still canon-compliant. The idea that Snape's family may have been apothecaries was suggested on the Red Hen website - she now appears to have abandoned it, but I think that it has promise. The Longbottoms (in my imagination) come from Accrington, in Lancashire - I imagine that Snape's grandparents live somewhere in West Yorkshire.

The road slopes down from the edge of the moor, bordered with trim little houses. It has been a warm summer's day, and many of the inhabitants are outside washing their cars or sitting in their doorways. Children play in the streets, and David Bowie blares from an open upstairs window: otherwise, all is calm. A normal August evening, in fact.

But the woman striding down the street is anything but normal, and the men washing cars and the children on the corner playing with a spacehopper look up in amusement at her eccentric appearance as she passes. She, however, seems entirely indifferent to this attention. Tall, straight-backed, with an imperious profile and a tight bun of greying dark brown hair, she wears a long print dress, an embroidered silk shawl, and a straw hat of which Carmen Miranda might have been proud, tied under her chin with two flowing green ribbons. Over one arm she carries a large red handbag and a wicker shopping basket. She moves purposefully, interested only in her destination.

And that destination can now be seen, about half-way down the hill. A small shop, it has a cheap and slightly shabby air. The words 'L & M Prince, Newsagents and General Store' above the door are dwarfed by advertisements for newspapers and Coca-Cola; in the window is a faded display of paperback novels, sweets and cheap toys. On one side of the door is a rack of newspapers, and in the street a free-standing signboard displays the headline in the local paper: 'OAP Vice Ring - Vicar Quizzed'. The woman who comes out of the shop does not look prosperous either - thin, careworn and grey-haired, she straightens the signboard and then folds her scrawny arms and stands in the doorway, looking up and down the street.

When she sees the other woman she stiffens. 'Leo!' she says, turning back into the shop.

In the dim interior her husband, a short, stocky man with dark eyes, is stacking a shelf with tins of baked beans by the simple expedient of pointing a thin wooden rod at them, making them fly from the pallet to the shelf. At his wife's warning he quickly stuffs his wand into a pocket and picks up an armful of tins. She smiles.

'No, Leo,' she says, 'not muggles - Madam Longbottom!'

'Madam Longbottom!' he echoes. 'Well I never! I thought we'd lost her for good.' He meets his wife's eye and they both smile, nervously. 'Mustn't count our owlets before they're hatched, Mary,' he says warningly, 'but . . . with a bit of luck . . . we might just be all right!'

The wand comes out again and the tins fly to their places faster than ever. He just has time to turn all the labels to the front with one last flick, and to reduce the pallet to a tidy pile of cardboard with another, before Madam Longbottom arrives. His wife hurries out to meet her.

'Mrs Longbottom! How good to see you.'

'Mary,' she says graciously, sweeping into the shop. 'Leonatus.'

'Madam Longbottom.' He bows slightly. 'This way, if you please.'

He leads the way through a door in the back of the shop, out into a small courtyard. On the far side of this is a single-storey brick building. He waves Madam Longbottom inside.

The inside of the outbuilding belies its humble exterior. Long and well-lit, it is divided about a third of the way down by a long, marble-topped counter, dominated by a large, old-fashioned set of brass scales and an equally old-fashioned cash register. Behind the counter, banks of dark wooden shelves hold neatly-labelled bottles and jars, containing dried herbs or insects, or luridly-coloured liquids. Another counter runs along one wall at right angles to the first, with cupboards and drawers under it, and two large sinks, with tall arching taps, in the centre. All the wall surfaces not taken up by shelves are covered with white tiles, adding to the impression of cleanliness and light. A weedy adolescent, who has been pounding something with a pestle and mortar, looks round as they arrive, brushing his greasy black hair out of his eyes.

'As you can see, we have our grandson helping us out during the school holidays,' says Mr Prince proudly.

'How nice!' Madam Longbottom beams encouragingly at this example of Industrious Youth, who tips the contents of the mortar into a bowl, washes his hands at one of the sinks, wipes them on his long apron, and comes forward, wearing what is clearly intended to be a helpful expression.

'A good arrangement for all concerned,' agrees Mr Prince, slipping behind the counter to join him. 'Some much-needed help for us, and a few extra sickles to spend in Honeydukes for him - isn't that so, Severus?' He slaps the boy on the shoulder. 'Now, what can we do for you, Madam Longbottom?'

Madam Longbottom extracts a long shopping-list from her handbag.

'Here we are,' she says. 'Now, a four-inch piece of preserved galingale to start off with.'

'Right now, Severus,' says Mr Prince. Severus moves a ladder along the row of shelves, swarms up it, reaches for a large glass jar, brings it down, and extracts a large, nobbly, pinky-brown root from the liquid which preserves it. He places it along a brass ruler embedded in the counter and lays a silver knife at the four-inch mark.

'A little more than that, I think,' says Madam Longbottom, sharply. Severus moves the knife slightly to the right, and looks up questioningly.

'That's better. Never be mean in your measurements, boy.' Severus's mouth tightens into a thin line. It is unclear whether he is annoyed, or trying not to laugh. Whichever it is, he puts the galingale into a small jar, adds some of the pink preserving fluid from a large jar on the counter, corks it, taps it with his wand to seal it, and passes it across the counter to Madam Longbottom.

'Is that properly sealed?' she asks. Mr Prince picks the jar up, turns it upside down, and shakes it.

'Yes - perfect,' he says, grinning at his grandson. 'That will be' - he checks the price on the large jar and traces it with his wand on the small one - 'one sickle and seven knuts. Now, what's next?'

'Let me see . . .' She consults the list. 'Alihotsy leaves. Four ounces.'

These are produced from another of the glass jars and weighed without incident, although Madam Longbottom sniffs pointedly as Severus tips the dark green leaves into the scales, and smiles tight-lipped as he hastily adds a few more. She appears satisfied with the murtlap tentacles, the buck brush roots and the powdered carnelian, but when the dried mopane worms are produced she picks one up from the scales (Severus frowns at this), rubs it between her fingers, and sniffs it.

'Are you sure these worms are not slightly mouldy, Leonatus?' she asks. Me Prince hurriedly picks up another worm, rubs it, sniffs it, considers, and sniffs it again.

'No,' he says, holding the worm out in his fingers for Severus to try. 'They're fine.' The boy sniffs and nods vigourously, his black eyes hostile. 'Try another.' He hands another worm to Madam Longbottom. She rubs it as before, sniffs at it, and frowns.

'You may be right,' she concedes. 'It must have been my imagination. It would certainly be most unlike you to stock tainted goods, Leonatus.'

'Well, though I say so myself . . .' Mr Prince is clearly flattered. 'We do try to keep our stock under optimal conditions here, as you can see, and we get these worms from a most reliable witch in Gaborone. We've been dealing with her for fifteen years and have never had any complaints.'

'Well . . . I'll take them.' She addresses Severus. 'Half a pound then, I think I said.'

'That's the ticket.' Mr Prince beams. 'And, of course, if you need to return them, we will be most happy to refund you in full.' Madam Longbottom inclines her head graciously.

And so it continues. Madam Longbottom has a long list of requirements, and Severus produces jar after jar, opens drawer after drawer. Madam Longbottom watches him carefully, occasionally tut-tutting at his measuring, or exclaiming at the price of some article. She has other, more specific, complaints. The jobbernoll feathers are not quite what she wants - too many long feathers, not enough down - but eventually she takes them, with visible reluctance. She rejects the first three bicorn horns offered her, but is mollified by having the entire drawer removed and placed on the counter for her to select her own. And she examines the fresh newt livers very carefully indeed when she is informed that the newts were dissected by Severus only that morning.

Mr Prince also watches carefully, stepping in to placate Madam Longbottom where necessary, or to give Severus a quick smile or a word of encouragement or praise. Despite this, the boy's movements become more and more irritable, his mouth thinner and thinner, under Madam Longbottom's constant criticism. The final straw comes when he is measuring out twelve ounces of puffapod seeds.

'Careful now, boy,' she admonishes, as he sends a cascade of shiny dark seeds into the scales. 'The slightest shock and these seeds will burst into bloom, you know. We don't want to waste your grandfather's money now, do we?'

Severus gives her one scornful glance as, equally carelessly, he tips the seeds into a glass jar and slams the cork down viciously.

'Yes I _did_ know that, thank you,' he informs the counter in a quiet, but very audible, voice. 'I _have_ actually _passed_ O.W.L. Herbology, you know.'

There is a shocked silence. Mr Prince moves hastily to fill it.

'Of course you know your Herbology, lad,' he says. 'We know that. Madam Longbottom was just reminding you to be careful, I'm sure.' He looks up at her. She snorts.

'Tell Madam Longbottom what you got in you O.W.L. Herbology, Severus.'

'An O.' Severus grins maliciously at Madam Longbottom. 'I got twelve Os.'

'So you see he's a clever lad really, Madam Longbottom. We're very proud of him, Mary and I. And he's been working here since he was twelve and I must say he's been very reliable - far more than could be expected for his age. He just needs to be a bit more relaxed, don't you Severus?' He puts his arm round his grandson's shoulders and shakes him gently. 'Take everything a bit less seriously.' He addresses Madam Longbottom again, pleading. 'But that's teenagers for you, isn't it? I remember when I was that age - one criticism, one bad mark, and my world was about to end. When you get older you learn that the world doesn't revolve around you, don't you . . . ?'

He runs out of words. His placatory tone, rather than anything he has actually said, seems to have had some effect. Madam Longbottom sniffs.

'That's as may be, she says. 'I must say you have him well trained, Leonatus. I have been impressed by his efficiency . . .' ('See?' says Mr Prince sternly, shaking Severus again.) She thinks for a minute, then, 'I will overlook it,' she says firmly, looking Mr Prince in the eye, 'provided he apologises.'

Mr Prince removes his arm from his grandson's shoulders.

'Severus?' he says, and there is a warning in his voice. Severus looks down at the counter and swallows. Then he sighs, straightens himself, and looks directly at Madam Longbottom.

'I'm very sorry if I was rude. You were trying to be helpful, I can see that now. My grandfather is right, I shouldn't take things so . . . seriously, and I'm very sorry indeed that I said what I said.' His tone is, to all appearances, perfectly sincere. Madam Longbottom softens a little.

'Well,' she says with a grim smile, 'we'll say no more about it. I'm a bit blunt and plain-spoken in my ways no doubt, but I like to see things done properly, that's always been my fault. And you young people need to learn that you don't have all the answers.'

'Very handsomely said,' says Mr Prince. 'You remember that, Severus. Now, what's next?'

Madam Longbottom consults the list.

'Just half-a-dozen ashwinder eggs, Leonatus, and that's it.'

'OK, Severus,' Mr Prince turns to his grandson, 'do you think you can manage that?' Severus nodds, although he looks slightly apprehensive.

'Your'e not going to let him do it, are you? Ashwinder eggs aren't covered in O.W.L. Potions, surely?'

'No, but he'll use them in the N.E.W.T class. This'll be good training for him - and give him a bit of an advantage over the others.' He grins at Severus. 'And I've every confidence in him.' He looks firmly at Madam Longbottom, who subsides grudgingly. 'Now, Severus, how are you going to go about this?'

'First, I'm going to set out my implements,' says Severus. Mr Prince nodds approvingly. Severus takes a silver ladle from its hook on the wall, and produces a small flask from under the counter. He flicks open the complicated array of wires holding the lid in place.

'Then I'm going to get out the ashwinder eggs.' He reaches under the side counter and comes up with a larger flask, which he places beside the other.

'Now I'm going to reduce the temperature in this flask.' He puts his wand to the side of the small flask for a minute, muttering under his breath. Ice forms on the inside of the flask and a cold steam starts to rise from it. Mr Prince steps forward and tests it with a finger.

'Very good, lad,' he says. 'Carry on.'

Severus flicks open the large flask, and a blast of ice-cold steam shoots out. He reaches down inside with the ladle.

'Now I transfer the eggs,' he says, 'being careful not to expose them to room temperature for more than a few seconds.'

He pulls the ladle up, containing a greyish egg, which he quickly deposits in the small flask. He repeats this five times with increasing confidence, smiling, clearly enjoying himself. When he has finished, he clicks both flasks shut smartly, and pushes the smaller one across the counter to Madam Longbottom.

'There you are. Six ashwinder eggs at . . .' - he squints at the side of the large flask as he puts it away - '. . . thirteen sickles per egg, that makes . . . four galleons ten sickles in total.'

Madam Longbottom does some quick mental arithmetic, then nodds approvingly.

'Well done,' she says. 'I can see you grandfather's going to have a very capable successor to his shop one of these days.'

'Oh, Severus isn't going to be an apothecary, Madam Longbottom,' says Mr Prince. 'Or not if he's got any sense, at least. There just isn't the call for a specialist business like this any more. Why waste your time coming here, when you can go to Bobbins in Diagon Alley and get everything you need, and pick up a winter cloak, a new cauldron and the latest copy of Witch Weekly into the bargain? They've even got a Bobbins in York now, so you don't need to go as far as London.'

'Bobbins indeed! I had some pickled shrakes' eyes from them once, and I had to throw half of them out. Rotten, would you believe! Quite unusable!'

'Slughorn gets his ingredients from Bobbins,' puts in Severus. 'I asked him. And you should see some of the stuff we have to use, granddad. You would be ashamed to stock it.'

'Oh, I don't think much of Bobbins myself,' says Mr Prince, complacently. 'How can a shop like that have any real idea of quality? But quality doesn't matter any more, service doesn't matter. It's all convenience - everyone's in such a hurry these days.' He snorts. 'Same with muggles: it's all these supermarkets with them. The front shop's losing money hand over fist. No, this shop should just about see me and Mary out, but Severus here is going to have to find something else to do with his life.'

'So what _are_ you thinking of doing, young man?' asks Madam Longbottom. 'The Ministry perhaps, like your mother?' Severus looks at the counter.

'I don't think so,' he says. There is a very slight hint of contempt in his voice. 'I'm . . . er . . . still thinking.'

'Eileen hated the Ministry,' says Mr Prince, coming to his rescue. 'And I don't blame her. Office of Muggle Relations indeed! Half those people knew more about dragons than muggles - _and_ clearly thought they were about as intelligent! No, the Ministry might be all very well if you're in the Aurors' Office or somewhere like that,' - Madam Longbottom nods in acknowledgement - 'but most of them are just pen-pushing mediocrities. You take your time thinking, lad. With brains like yours there's any number of things you could do. And you can't have been sorted into Slytherin house for nothing.'

'Slytherin?!!' says Madam Longbottom. 'But I thought you were in Ravenclaw, Leonatus?'

'I was in Ravenclaw, and Eileen was in Ravenclaw, and Mary and all her family have always been in Hufflepuff, and my poor dear mother, God rest her, was in Gryffindor, and now young Severus here is in Slytherin. Quite a little Hogwarts in miniature we are, in this family,' Mr Prince replies proudly.

'Well!! I have never heard the like. Children should be contented to be sorted into the same house as their parents, in my book.' She casts a withering glance at Severus. ' _All_ the Fazackerleys have always been in Gryffindor, I'm proud to say, and all the Longbottoms too!'

'Well, that's as may be, Madam Longbottom,' says Mr Prince imperturbably, 'but we value our individuality in this family. We've all got our own strengths, and we all work together, which is what I think the Founders intended.' He smiles self-deprecatingly. 'But never mind the idle thoughts of an old Ravenclaw. Let's get this little lot added up for you, and then you can be getting home. Severus, can you tidy up here please?'

Severus collects the implements he has been using together and starts washing them, as Mr Prince runs the various items of Madam Longbottom's shopping through the cash register.

'I make that thirty-four galleons, eight sickles and twenty-three knuts, please,' he says. 'A lot of money, I know' - seeing Madam Longbottom's face - 'but then you have a lot of expensive items here, Madam Longbottom. Ashwinder eggs - they don't come cheap now, they're a controlled substance, and bicorn horns aren't exactly inexpensive either. And you've really been stocking up today.' He surveys the pile of jars and packets on the counter with pleasure. 'But of course we haven't seen you for a while.'

'Well, what with the wedding and everything . . .'

'Oh! Of course, the wedding! Did all that go off well? I think you said the bride lived in Norfolk?'

'That's right. Wiggenhall St Mary Magdalen. So green and beautiful - but so flat! I couldn't live there. Alice Banham she was - a charming family, lovely people, been in that area for generations. And yes, it all went off splendidly. The service was held in a beautiful old church - a real country church - and then they laid on the most splendid reception in a marquee in their garden - a wonderful meal, all served by house-elves, and they'd hired Wamba and the Warlocks for the young people to dance to. That kind of music all sounds the same to me - no tune to it - but they seemed to enjoy it. And of course they'd put a charm on the weather - just as well, as rain was forecast, but they shifted that off towards Cambridge and got us a beautiful day, bright and sunny, with just a light breeze to cool things down. Oh, but I was so relieved! I'd had my worries, you know - they were going about everything in such a slapdash fashion. I kept asking about the arrangements, and I never seemed to get a satisfactory answer. I did offer _repeatedly_ to help them, but they just wouldn't hear of it.' (Severus, at the sink, is struck by a sudden fit of coughing at this point. His grandfather glares at him.) 'But in the end it all worked out perfectly.'

'Well, I suppose it's something you want to do yourselves, isn't it? Get your little girl's big day just right,' says Mr Prince, mildly, handing Madam Longbottom a couple of jars. Something about his voice makes her look at him.

'And how is Eileen?' she asks, as she packs them into her basket.

She has evidently read Mr Prince's thoughts accurately, as he replies, 'Fine,' a shade too quickly, with a hurried glance at Severus, who has his back to him, and after a few seconds follows this up with, 'Very well indeed. In fact we had lunch with her, her and Toby, on Sunday, and they were both in fine form, I thought. Weren't they, Severus? Your mum and dad, I mean?'

'Yeah,' says Severus. He is bending down, putting something away in a cupboard under the sink, and his long black hair hides his face. 'Yeah. Fine. Great.'

Madam Longbottom purses her lips. 'We'll I'm glad,' she says uncertainly. 'I do so admire people who have the courage to marry muggles, especially these days, when there is so much prejudice against it - you should just hear my poor dear sister-in-law on _that_ subject, Leonatus - and it's so nice when it turns out well.'

'No reason why it should turn out worse than any other marriage,' says Mr Prince, shortly. 'And no reason why it should be brave, or admirable, or anything like that. You love someone - muggle, wizard, whatever - you marry them. Simple as that. Now tell me,' - he steers her firmly towards the door - 'how are Harfang and Callidora getting along - and Harsculph indeed, he'll be pleased to see his son so well settled?'

Severus, who is now sweeping the floor, pauses to glare after her. He spits - then hurriedly grabs a cloth and wipes it up.

When, a few minutes later, he comes out into the front shop, Madam Longbottom is gone. His grandmother hands him a large mug of tea.

'Here you are,' she says. 'You've earned it, from what I hear.'

'That woman is a cow!' Severus bursts out.

'Language, Severus,' says his grandfather. 'I'll not have my customers spoken of like that.'

'But she is! How can you let her treat you like that, granddad?'

'She demands good service, and she has every right to,' says Mr Prince seriously, leaning over the counter and folding his arms. 'You need to learn to swallow your pride a bit, young man. We need customers like her to stay in business. Do you know she comes all the way over from Accrington to shop here?'

'Accrington? Why doesn't she go to Grimshaw's in Bacup?'

'Well she used to, didn't she? Then she had a falling-out with old Tiberius Grimshaw - thought some powdered dragon eggs he'd sold her as Chinese Fireball were really Welsh Green, apparently - and she started coming here, and where's Grimshaw now? Out of business, that's where!' He pauses for effect. 'Closed up just before Christmas, and went to live with his daughter in Cheshire. And we've got Madam Augusta and her husband, ' - he ticks them off on his fingers - 'and their son, Mr Frank - although now he's married and living in London I daresay we won't be seeing him any more - and through them we have her brothers - both of them, Mr Algernon Fazackerley _and_ Mr Granville - and their families, and her sister, Madam Enid, and her husband's brother, Mr Harfang Longbottom - her husband is the younger brother, Mr Harsculph - and his wife, and their children.'

'And if you think Madam Augusta is bad, Severus, you should see Madam Callidora - Madam Harfang Longbottom, that is,' puts in Mrs Prince. 'She was a Black before she was married, and you know what _they_ are like.' (Severus's curled lip indicates that he does indeed know what the Blacks are like.) ' " _Ehh_ ," ' (Mrs Prince puts on an exaggeratedly posh accent), ' "am used to _London_ apothecaries, Madam Prince," she says, coming in here with her long nose in the air as if we'd had a herd of mooncalves in for a week and forgotten to clean them out. "Aye, and to paying London prices too, you poor fool," I think to myself - _but I do not say anything_.' She wags her finger at Severus. 'And I am always _very_ polite to her. And as a result she comes back, she pays promptly, she is a very good customer, and we stay in business. See?'

'And you and your mother might be glad of that one day,' adds Mr Prince, sternly. 'God forbid it should be necessary, but we can offer you money, and a home should you need one, and that is all due to people like the Longbottoms. So a little more civility from you might be in order.'

Severus looks down, his face brick red, and he kicks the front of the counter mutinously. Mrs Prince eyes him with concern.

'You're all right, lad. Cheer up. You did wonderfully with the ashwinder eggs, from what your granddad tells me, and that Madam Augusta would try the patience of a saint. What I always remember when I'm dealing with her is that she failed her Charms O.W.L., and then I feel a lot better.'

'No!' Severus looks up, his anger and humiliation forgotten in his amazement. 'How can _anyone_ fail Charms? It's such a doss.'

'Well I don't know.' His grandmother smiles at him. 'And I think she passed it eventually - but she certainly failed on the first attempt. And it does make her much easier to deal with, knowing that. Now, come on, you keep watch while your granddad and I put these spaghetti hoops out, and then we'll close up for the night.'

Severus obediently goes outside and, leaning against the doorframe, takes a gulp of tea. It is cooler now, and the neighbours have gone indoors - only the radio still plays, a seductive song of last chances and desperate hopes.

' . . . it's a town full of losers, and I'm pulling out of here to wi-in!' howls the singer in defiance, his voice rising to a crescendo as the music swells beneath him. The DJ cuts across the instrumental.

'And that was Mr Bruce Springsteen with 'Thunder Road', from his new album, 'Born to Run': out soon and one to watch out for, folks, most definitely - and don't forget you heard it here first! Now I have a request here from Julie, for all at the Curl Up and Dye Hair Salon in Solihull . . .'

Severus settles himself more comfortably against the doorpost, and takes another sip of tea. His face is unreadable. Around him the night falls; in distant London, the muggle DJ prattles on.


End file.
